Ovingdean Grange by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“It is well for him that he is out of your honour’s reach,” returned John.

“Therein thou sayest truly, fellow,” Stelfax rejoined, with a laugh. “Well, I have done with thee for the nonce. I will question thee further when the profane malignant, thy old master, returns from his ride. Meantime, thou art a prisoner.”

“A prisoner!” John Habergeon exclaimed.

“Ay, all within the house are prisoners during my tarrying here. None may stir forth on peril of life.”

At this juncture, Mr. Beard and Increase Micklegift entered the room. Having witnessed the arrival of the troopers from the parsonage-house, the Independent minister had come over to watch their proceedings. John Habergeon having informed the Roundhead captain who the new-comers were, the latter prayed them to be seated, and addressed himself to the ejected clergyman.

“Your daughter is a comely damsel, Master Beard,” he said—”a very comely damsel. I met her a short while ago, on the other side of the downs, in Colonel Maunsel’s company.”

“She went out to ride with my honoured patron,” Mr. Beard replied.

“You have been told, I doubt not, of the death of your patron’s son—the young malignant, Clavering Maunsel?” pursued Stelfax.

“I have been told of it,” Mr. Beard replied, casting down his eyes, for it was painful to him to equivocate.

“What is this I hear?” Micklegift exclaimed, in surprise.

“The young man was slain at Worcester.” Stelfax remarked, in an indifferent tone.

“That cannot be!” the Independent minister cried.

“Wherefore can it not be, I prithee?” Stelfax retorted. “I say unto thee again, the young man is dead and buried.”

“Thou thinkest so?” said Micklegift.

“Nay, I am certain of it,” the other rejoined. “There is small chance of his rendering further service to the Young Man, Charles Stuart. But I was speaking of your daughter, sir,” he added to Mr. Beard. “She deserves a good husband. Have you ever thought of giving her away in marriage?”

“I have not,” the clergyman replied. “She is yet of tender age, and I look to her as the prop of my declining years—should I be spared.”

“But you know not what may befall you,” Stelfax rejoined. “A wise man will provide against the evil day.”

“Your counsel is good, valiant captain,” Micklegift remarked. “And Master Beard will do well to commit his daughter to the care of some godly and discreet man, who will be as a safeguard to her.”

“Like thyself,” John Habergeon muttered.

“Nay, were I Master Beard,” cried Stelfax, “I would rather give her to some man with a strong hand, who having carved his way with the sword, will maintain what he hath won with the same weapon.”

“What! is this Roundhead captain too a suitor?” John Habergeon muttered. “We shall have the pair at daggers drawn ere long,”

“This man is my rival,” Micklegift mentally ejaculated;’ his pale features flushing angrily. “I must thwart his designs.’

“I like not this Independent minister,” Stelfax muttered to himself. “He is not a true man. I must keep an eye upon him. Well, Master Beard,” he added, aloud, to the clergyman—”are you disposed to follow my recommendation, and bestow fair Mistress Dulcia upon a man of might and valour?”

“Or on a man of wisdom and godliness?” Micklegift said.

“His reverence must be hard put to it to answer them,” John muttered, with a laugh.

“I shall leave the choice to my daughter,” the clergyman replied, gravely; “and until she consults me on the subject, I shall give no thought to it.”

A seasonable relief was unexpectedly offered to Mr. Beard at this juncture. A great disturbance was heard in the corridor, and the next moment two troopers entered, dragging in Ninian, with his hands bound behind his back with a leathern thong, and followed by Patty Whinchat, sobbing loudly.

“How now, Besadaiah Eavestaff, and thou, Tola Fell,” Stelfax cried, addressing the troopers, “what hath this varlet done, that ye bring him thus bounden before me?”

“He hath assaulted our comrade, Helpless Henly, and smitten him on the head with a bill-staff,” Besadaiah replied.

“Is Helpless Henly much hurt?” Stelfax demanded.

“Nay, I cannot avouch that,” Besadaiah replied. “Luckily, he hath a thick skull. But the blow was delivered with right good will, and felled him to the ground.”

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